


The Aldburg Cycle

by Edoraslass, just_ann_now



Series: Two Heirs [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Children, Culture Shock, Ficlet, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Reunion Sex, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1357726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edoraslass/pseuds/Edoraslass, https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_ann_now/pseuds/just_ann_now
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boromir and Théodred, reunited at last in Aldburg, TA 3000. Théodred has surprises for Boromir, which cause Boromir to look at his own life choices, and choices not yet made for him</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aldburg 1

**Aldburg 1** , by Edoraslass

 

Boromir had never known that so many shades of blond existed. Since entering Rohan, he seen hair pale as fresh butter, bright as melted gold, yellow as newly-mown hay, bronzed by traces of red, auburn streaked to flaxen by the sun, and every variation in between. Even now, he could see two little girls --twins--with hair so blonde it was nearly white. He watched them a moment, smiling as the girls shrieked with delight at the approach of a tall, broad Rider. The man’s fierce expression dissolved into a joyful smile as the little ones ran to him, exclaiming, “Papa, papa! Mama, he is here!”

 

They were not the only children playing in front of the Hall of Aldburg; many women and their children were waiting in the square for Riders just returned from patrol, and the happy scene of reunion was being reenacted in several spots. In an act that had become habit since entering Rohan, Boromir scanned the small crowd, looking for a blond as dark and rich as honey still in the comb, soft as a spring sunrise, and, as usual, did not find what he sought.

Boromir dismounted, quashing his disappointment that he would not reach Edoras today.  
Éomund of the Eastfold, master of Aldburg, and the King’s brother by marriage, had met Boromir and his escorts at the boundries of Gondor. He was a pleasant, cheerful man, and Boromir felt slightly guiltly for his own irritation at seeing a stranger at the border. Of course it would have been too much to expect that Théodred would have been at the border to take him and his men to Edoras - in fact, Boromir did not put it past his father to request Éomund as escort. Four years, and Denethor still scowled at any mention of Théoden King’s son. Four years of cavorting flagrantly with the women in the best houses; four years of hiding in shadows with discreet men.

“There is plenty of room in our barracks for your men,” Éomund said, gesturing for the grooms to approach and take the horses, “and we’ve a private bathhouse for those staying in the Hall, if you wish to bathe before the evening meal.”

“Is that a hint?” Boromir said wryly as he dismissed his men with a nod, and Eomund laughed.

“We have not had much rain lately,” Éomund said, and amusement flashed across his face, though Boromir did not know why. “The dust has been fierce these past weeks. But perhaps you would rather wait a moment, until you have had speech with Théodred?”

Boromir stopped in the act of stripping off his gloves. “I did not know Théodred was assigned to the east,” he said, striving for a casual tone.

“He is not,” Éomund agreed, grinning so knowingly that Boromir flushed. “He was meant to meet you at the border, but his éored was unexpectedly delayed.”

Boromir looked where Éomund indicated and his heart leapt in his chest when he saw Théodred, not ten feet away, dismounting and pulling off his helm. Oh, he looked like a wild creature, those honeyed braids in disarray, the careless way in which he swung from the horse’s back, the almost stalking motion to his walk -- Boromir’s mind was filled with a flurry of most arousing thoughts, and he chided himself for it, even while he could not stop it.

~*~

When Théoden had asked his son, “Have you time to escort a delegate from the borders of Gondor?”, Théodred had been annoyed at the very idea of having to coddle some courtier over miles of travel.

“What ‘delegate‘ warrants a royal escort?” Théodred had wanted to know. “Surely there is someone else who could do so?”

“I suppose Éomund could,” Théoden had replied thoughtfully. “Though Lord Denethor might wonder why his heir was not met by you or me.” He had burst out laughing at his son’s startled expression. “Ah, now that is a diplomatic assignment which appeals to you, does it not?”

“Yes, Father,” Théodred had replied, elated. “I will accept that duty gladly.”

Now Théodred was irritated that he had been delayed, and, he had to admit, a bit nervous at seeing Boromir. He wondered how the other man had changed, and hoped that Boromir had not turned into a stranger as time had passed.

He tossed the reins to one of the waiting grooms, hoping he would have the opportunity to bathe before the meal. Not only would his aunt Théodwyn be most displeased if he showed up at the table as he was, he did not want to meet Boromir for the first time in four years filthy with dirt and Orc blood.

Théodred turned at Éomund’s voice, and found that he did not care how dirty he was, for Boromir stood there with his uncle. Boromir had changed, physically, at least, but this was all to the good, in Théodred’s opinion. Boromir’s face was somehow stronger, his skin darker, his hair longer, and he had put on a good bit of muscle across his chest. Iin fact, Théodred noted, as he let his appreciative gaze wander over Boromir, he had put on muscle everywhere. He forced himself to stop staring, and went forward to greet the Steward’s heir properly.

In Boromir’s eyes, Théodred saw that at least one thing had not changed.  
Boromir still wanted him.


	2. Aldburg 2

**Aldburg 2** , by Edoraslass

 

Boromir found himself unaccountably anxious at facing Théodred, and searched for something to say, wondering what Théodred’s scrutiny had meant. Was Théodred pleased to see him?

He need not have worried, for Théodred stepped forward and drew him into a welcome embrace that would not have been inappropriate even in Gondor. “It is good to see you, my friend!” he breathed into Boromir’s ear, his warm, heady scent making Boromir slightly dizzy. “I trust you had a safe journey?”

Théodred’s long, lean form pressed against his was threatening to cause a very predictable reaction, and Boromir was forced to draw away before it became noticeable. From the look on Théodred’s face, however, he had noticed, and was in no way displeased.

“It is good to see you as well,” Boromir agreed, grinning in sheer delight even as he willed his body to behave. “Lord Éomund has been quite welcoming, and has been most patient with all my questions of Rohan.”

“It is a pleasure to speak of my country with a man who is so clearly interested,” Éomund said. “But now I am needed in the hall, so I leave you in Théodred’s care.“ A smirk flashed across his face as he looked at the two younger men. “We will eat in two hours. Do try to be on time, or we will all face Théodwyn’s wrath.”

Théodred laughed as his uncle departed, and Boromir had to remind himself to breathe.. The last time he had heard that sound, they had been wrapped around one another, whispering promises and teasing one another with eager touch. When Théodred turned toward him, Boromir could not find no words to say.

 

~*~

Théodred turned toward Boromir. Any casual conversation he had planned on making vanished into thin air at the fierce gleam in Boromir’s eyes. He remembered that gleam; had dreamed about it more than once.

“Shall we -- shall I show you to the bathhouse?” he asked, attempting to calm his nervousness. “Éomund is quite right -- my aunt will be angry if we are late for the banquet she has surely prepared, and angrier yet if we appear in this state.”

Boromir smiled in a way that made Théodred wonder what he was thinking . “Then we should go, for we would not wish to anger your aunt.”

Theodred moved to lead the way, but was stopped by two high, excited voices. “ _Fæðer, fæðer_!”

He turned, and saw the girls running toward him with all the abandon of their age. He wondered if Boromir knew what that word meant. He had no time to think on it, for Blídhe and Fridhu were tearing across the square, the sun on their white hair nearly blinding. Caflic, attentive as always, followed a short distance behind them.

Théodred knelt down, grinning hugely, and the twins flew into his arms, planting light, fluttery kisses all over his face.

“My little ones!” Théodred said, hugging them both close. “How I have missed you both! You have gotten so big!” He was not flattering them; he had not been to Aldburg in nearly four months, and he was astounded at how his daughters had grown.

“Oh, oh, two papas!” Fridhu exclaimed, wriggling in joy. “ _Fæðer_ , where did you go?”

“ _Fæðer_ has to go sometimes,” Blídhe solemnly reminded her sister, wrapping her arms around Théodred’s neck. “but he comes back.”

Théodred chanced a glance up at Boromir, who looked stunned.

 

~*~

The Rider Boromir had seen earlier with the girls approached. “My Lord Théodred,” he greeted coolly, and Boromir was shaken out of his confusion for a moment. He was struck with indignation on Théodred’s behalf at the man’s expression. Who was he, to look on Rohan’s heir with such disrespect?

Théodred, however, seemed unconcerned with the Rider’s manner. “Caflic,” he returned, grinning as one of the girls tried to scramble onto his back. “All is well, I hope?”

“All is well,” Caflic answered, and did not elaborate.

But when the tiny girl turned to him and said, “Papa, help!” Caflic’s frown faded. He strode forward and swung the child onto Théodred’s shoulders, smiling at her giggles. Boromir saw something in the man’s face -- jealousy or anger or simple protectiveness -- and wondered again who Caflic was.

“Thank you,” Théodred said, lifting the other girl into his arms and standing carefully. He then turned, and Boromir thought that Theodred looked anxious. “Boromir, this is Caflic, a Rider of my uncle’s household and father to these two little ones.. They are my daughters, Fridhu --” the one on his back “-- and Blídhe. Caflic, this is Lord Boromir of Gondor.”

Caflic made a bow, but Boromir was so startled by the words that he did not even note this. “Your daughters?” he could not keep himself from saying. Of course Boromir had heard one of them refer to “two papas“, but he had not been certain she had meant Théodred. “I -- I did not know you had children.”

“I did not, the last time we met,“ Théodred said, and now it seemed that he was faintly defensive, though why, Boromir was not certain. “They are but two years old.”

“Two years, four months,” Caflic supplied, crossing his arms over his chest as if restraining himself from saying something else entirely.

Théodred’s jaw tightened briefly, but his voice was even. “We have had troubles to the west,” he replied, shifting Blídhe in his arms, “I have not been able to get away.”

Boromir wished himself elsewhere; it appeared to be a very private exchange between the two Rohirrim. He might ask Théodred later about this, but he felt like an intruder at witnessing the conversation. He took a discreet step backwards, which neither of the other men noticed.

“Papa, _Fæðer_ , papa, _Fæðer,_ ,” Blídhe was singing happily under her breath as she toyed with Theodred’s braids, and it would have taken a stronger man than Boromir to remain stone-faced against her sweet little voice.

Caflic was not that man, for all at once, the tension in the Rider’s shoulders relaxed. “We have heard,” he said, almost apologetic. “I hope that it is only Dunlendings, and not-- “ his gaze flickered to the children, “-- something less natural?”

“It is,” Théodred confirmed, twisting his neck to grin at Fridhu when she rapped her knuckles on the top of his head. “Yes, _min dohtor_?”

She kissed his forehead with a loud smack. “We have to bath, _Fæðer_ ,” she announced.

“You have to _bathe_ ,” Caflic corrected with a smile gentler than Boromir would have predicted was possible. “And she is quite right - their mother is waiting for us. You will excuse us, my lords?”

 

~*~

Théodred was reluctant to leave his daughters so quickly, but hid it as best he could. “We must bathe as well,” he said, “you know that Aunt Théodwyn does not like dirt in her hall. Go with your papa, and I will see you at the banquet.”

He let Blídhe slide to the ground, then lifted Fridhu from his shoulders. “Kisses!” Blídhe exclaimed, holding her arms open, and Théodred obeyed with a smile, kneeling to kiss each of them on the cheek once more, and ruffling their fine, silky hair. “I will see you soon,” he promised as they went to Caflic, who nodded once in farewell, then led them away, each frantically waving to their father.

He waved back as he watched them go, feeling, as always, a wistful pang at their departure. At times, it bothered him that he had so little time with the girls, but it that was how it was. Théodred provided for his daughters gladly, and took great joy in being with them, but he could not be a proper father to any children except those borne by his future wife. Wishing would not change that fact. No matter how he himself felt about Caflic, Théodred knew in his heart that Caflic was an honourable man, and that his girls were in good hands.

It occurred to him that Boromir must be puzzled at all that had just happened, so, bracing himself for any reaction, he turned his attention to that man of Gondor.

To his overwhelming relief, Boromir’s first words were, “They are charming, Théodred. You must be very proud.”

“I am indeed,” Théodred said, beaming. “Though they were wholly unexpected, I would not be without them for the world.”

“They are your daughters,” Boromir said, tentative. Théodred nodded. “And -- Caflic is married to their mother?”

Théodred nodded again. “Yes, Raedwyn is her name. We have known each other for years.”

Boromir was thoughtful for a moment. “I do not understand,” he admitted at length. “Caflic does not mind that his wife bore another man’s children?”

“They were not yet formally courting, when she and I were together,” Théodred hastened to say, realizing Boromir’s error in thinking, “though they had spent time with one another. She was carrying when he took her to wife, he knew who had fathered those children, and he agreed to raise them as his own.”

 

~*~

Boromir’s bewilderment only grew at this revelation. “I ..I am sorry if I seem confused, Théodred,” he said, “it is just -- it is confusing. It--it would be a very different situation in Gondor.” He could not organize his thoughts, and he did not want Théodred to think that he was contemptuous of Rohan’s customs, so he fell silent.

Théodred gave a wry laugh. “It is confusing,” he admitted, “and I was worried when I heard of the agreement between Raedwyn and Caflic. I was afraid that he would never wholly accept the children, for he has never been overly fond of me. But all my fears were needless -- Caflic could not hold my girls more dearly if they were the daughters of his own blood. That is obvious to anyone who sees them together.” Boromir could not dispute that statement. He himself did not doubt Caflic’s devotion to those small girls, not after the way he had seen the Rider’s severe face light up at their approach.

“He has never berated Raedwyn for the turn of events, either.” Théodred grinned, as if amused at the very idea. “For one thing, she would not stand for such treatment. For another, she was not beholden to him at the time, nor he to her. “ He shrugged. “ I provide for the girls, and they will have a generous dowry when they come of age. He has a connection to the House of Eorl, and a beautiful family,” now Boromir caught a hint of melancholy to Theodred’s tone, “and I know my daughters are cared for and well-loved. That is all I can ask for.”

Boromir considered this. “It is still a very odd situation, to my thinking,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “In Gondor, their mother would likely be left to make her own way, and I think there would be few men who would have her, for fear of that their good name might be sullied, or that she might make a cuckold of them.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “You said once that things were different in Rohan -- I did not imagine _how_ different.”

“Does it -- “ Théodred stopped, then continued, “does it bother you, that I have children?”

Startled by the hesitant tone, Boromir glanced at him, and saw a shadow of concern in Théodred’s blue eyes. “No,” he said, shaking his head, “no, it does not…bother me, Théodred. It is surprising, and complicated ...” Théodred did not look entirely convinced, so Boromir reached out and laid his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “ I admit, it is strange to think of you as a father -- you are _my_ age, and I have not even _begun_ to consider such a thing, though you may believe the Steward wishes I would do so.” Théodred chuckled at that. “It has not changed my regard for you, if that is what you are so carefully not saying,” Boromir went on, smiling. “I cannot think of anything that would do that, Théodred.”

Théodred’s answering smile was brighter than the setting sun.


	3. Aldburg 3

**Aldburg 3** , by Edoraslass

 

Théodred breathed a little easier, now that Boromir had met his daughters. He had wondered how Boromir would take the news, and now he scoffed at himself for ever having doubted that Boromir’s reaction would be less than positive. “Come,” he bade, gesturing, “the banquet draws ever nearer, and we are still filthy.”

“We must always remember your aunt’s temper,” Boromir said, chuckling. “I am looking forward to meeting this woman who has put such fear into the Riders of Rohan.”

“You think it a joke,” Théodred said with exaggerated seriousness, “but you have never seen Théodwyn angry. You should hope that you never do.”

They began walking again, and after a moment, Boromir asked, “Why does Caflic seem so --affronted by you?”

Théodred sighed. “I think he is envious that I am their father by blood,and not him. I cannot fault him for that, for I would feel the same, were I in his position. But it is also true that we have never been what could be called ‘friends’.” He gave Boromir a sidelong glance. “Have you not experienced the same thing, Boromir -- men who act as if everything was given to you, who will not believe that you earned it, simply because of who your father is?”

Boromir nodded. “Aye, I have,” he agreed. “though once you have proved your mettle, those men are often the most loyal. But it is a long battle, and I have not yet won it with many men.” He threw a small grin at Théodred, which heated Théodred’s blood more than it had any right to. “He will come around. Have patience.”

Théodred snorted. “You are counseling me to have patience?” he grinned. “As I remember, you are not in possession of a particularly patient nature, my friend.”

Boromir laughed, and out of nowhere, Théodred recalled hearing that laugh on his last night in Minas Tirith, the two of them curled together in a small, borrowed room. Taken off-guard by how deeply that memory shook him, he looked away from Boromir, giving himself time to gather his composure.

Abruptly Boromir changed the subject, though Théodred could tell that Boromir was attempting to be casual. “You and Raedwyn are old friends?”

Théodred glanced toward Boromir, wondering if he had imagined a twinge of jealousy in the other’s voice. “Indeed,” he agreed, “she is dear to me. She has given me my daughters, no matter how accidentally, and --” he hesitated a moment, “--and she has given me comfort me when I needed it.”

Boromir stopped. To Théodred’s surprise, as they were still standing in full view of any who might wander by, the other man moved closer and laid one hand against Théodred’s cheek. “I do not like to think of you unhappy, Théodred,” Boromir said, brushing his thumb across Théodred’s lips, “I am glad that you had someone to ease your troubles -- but I would that I had been here to comfort you.”

Théodred’s mouth went dry at the caress, and he had to swallow before he could speak. “But if you had been here, I would not have been in need of comfort,” he replied softly, “for it was Midsummer…and I was lonely.”

~*~

Théodred’s almost shy admission took Boromir’s breath away. “I have missed you,” he said, voice low and not quite even.

“I have missed you as well,” Théodred answered. His smile made Boromir lose all train of thought, just as it had the first time Théodred smiled for him alone.

If Théodred had been surprised at Boromir’s forwardness in a public setting, it was nothing compared to Boromir’s shock at his own actions when he moved forward and caught Théodred’s mouth with his own. It was a slow, thorough kiss, and Boromir had a moment to think that Théodred tasted and smelled exactly as he remembered. Then he had no time for thought, for Théodred was pulling him nearer.

At length, Théodred drew back, and pressed his forehead to Boromir’s. “We should go inside,” he said, nearly inaudible, his hands tugging at Boromir‘s laces even as he spoke. “We may have different customs in Rohan, but I assure you, what I wish to do to you is not appropriate for a setting so public.”

Boromir managed an unsteady chuckle, though his heart was pounding at Théodred‘s words. “What if -- there is someone inside?”

“I will throw them out,” Théodred promised fiercely, lips moving down Boromir’s throat. “At swordpoint, if I must.”

There was no one inside. The moment Théodred bolted the door, Boromir was in his arms.

~*~

They could not be patient; not now, with time in short supply and desire at its peak. All hunger and rough need, there were only demands to be satisfied, intense joy to be taken in the other’s touch and taste and moans. Later there would be time to linger, explore, remember. 


	4. At Leisure

**At Leisure** , by Edoraslass

The world has narrowed to this:

Boromir’s hands, pinning his wrists to the stable wall.

Boromir‘s voice, murmuring questions about the handsome tattoo artist.

Boromir’s tongue and teeth leisurely following the intricate knotwork, from shoulder to chest to shoulder.

Boromir’s scent, of woods and leather and sharp, bright desire.

Théodred does not try to stop his own shaking; he does not fight against Boromir’s restraining grip. Somewhere nearby, he can hear the voices of Riders laughing and talking. Any one of them could walk in at any moment, and he is shocked by how exciting he finds this possibility. It is a struggle to keep his moans locked behind his teeth.

Pain-tinged pleasure sends tremors throughout his limbs as Boromir bites the curve of his neck, and now his attention is only on the man who is torturing him so skillfully. He gasps, long and low, and rolls his hips forward into Boromir, desperate for more.

They both groan at the contact, and then Boromir’s hot mouth is taking the tattoo’s path down his torso. He meanders, lingering over smooth, tight stomach muscles that jump in response, and Théodred buries his freed hands in dark silken hair for support.

He cannot keep his hips from twitching; does not attempt to keep back a growl as Boromir’s hands slide along the insides of his thighs. Leather chafes overly sensitive skin, and Théodred shifts, impatient, wanting. He is already so close - if he lives to be an old, old man, he will never understand how Boromir can arouse him so thoroughly, so quickly.

Now Boromir’s talented mouth is almost at the end of the trail, and, maddeningly, he stops, making no move to go further. His breath tickles Théodred‘s belly, and Théodred makes a frustrated noise of protest, aching for Boromir‘s touch. Boromir chuckles, and then he has risen and finally captured Théodred’s mouth in a fierce, deep kiss that brooks no refusal. It is clear by Boromir’s trembling that he is as hungry for completion as Théodred himself is. As he demands, and receives, all Théodred has, Boromir’s hands continue to taunt and tease: one following the artfully drawn lines across Théodred’s chest, the other lazily roaming over the bulge in Théodred’s breeches.

Théodred can feel his release approaching, and he does not know if he will be able to hold back. A strangled exclamation escapes him, and Boromir is again on his knees, swiftly unfastening constricting laces.

“Have you seen the Lords Théodred and Boromir?”

Théodred starts violently at the sound of his uncle’s voice just outside the stable, then nearly bites through his lip as Boromir descends upon him. _Hurry, hurry,_ he thinks, tightening his fingers in Boromir’s hair. He holds back the cries of pleasure that are fighting to escape until he thinks his chest will burst. _Boromir, Boromir!_ He dares not even whisper it, only thinks it, as he rocks back and forth in time with Boromir’s rhythm.

A muffled exclamation cuts through his incoherent thoughts. He glances down to see that Boromir is tending to himself as well, and this realization shoves him over the edge. It is like a merciless summer wind -- for an instant he goes cold all over, then fire burns from the base of his spine, racing through his shuddering limbs, until there is only heat consuming him.

Gradually he becomes aware of hands on his waist, steadying him, and Théodred looks hazily down into self-satisfied grey eyes. He tugs lightly, and Boromir stands, takes him in his arms, and this time their kiss is breathless, gentle. He can taste himself on Boromir’s tongue; Boromir is quivering against him even now.

Boromir remains enthralled with the tattoo, for his fingertips linger, as if the inked skin has a different feel, and the casual touch still makes Théodred shiver. Fleetingly, he wonders if he could persuade Boromir to visit the handsome tattoo artist, once they reach Edoras. But only fleetingly, for most of Théodred’s mind is occupied with plotting his revenge. Turnabout is, after all, fair play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A birthday gift for just_ann_now. BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVER.


	5. Théo’s Triolet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief, poetic interlude.

**Théo’s Triolet** , by just_ann_now 

My lips are still, yet within I sing your name  
Burning to cry my love aloud,  
Faithful Jewel: born of stars and light and flame  
My lips are still, yet within I sing your name.  
Surrendering all of myself unto your claim.  
Body, soul, honor have I vowed.  
My lips are still, yet within I sing your name  
Burning to cry my love aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A triolet is a poem or stanza of eight lines with a rhyme scheme _abaaabab_ , in which the fourth and seventh lines are the same as the first, and the eighth line is the same as the second.
> 
> A birthday gift for Edoraslass.


	6. Bumblebees

**Bumblebees** , by just_ann_now

 

The two little girls came toward us dancing, darting, whirring, while making happy little humming noises. “They are being bumblebees,” Théodred murmured. “It is their new favorite game.” Their mother watched, smiling, from a doorway.

Théodred knelt to swoop them up into his arms, laughing as they covered his face with kisses, listening intently as they whispered in his ears. As he whispered back, one of them turned suddenly, reaching out her freckled arms to me. Without thinking, I took her.

She was warm and solid and smelled of sunshine, and Théo’s blue eyes smiled at me impishly from that flowerlike little face. I had never held a child before – the fathering of children being a duty I prefer not to consider– but at that moment I understood Theo’s delight and pride and love for his daughters. 

Suddenly she leaned forward, brushing my cheek with her eyelashes. _Butterfly kisses,_ I remember my mother calling them, and held the little girl tighter as the joy and pain of that memory swept over me. Only her low chuckling brought me back, and I softly kissed her forehead before setting her down beside her sister. Giggling, they twirled off. 

“Bumblebees?” I asked. “Or butterflies?”

“It’s hard to tell,” Théo replied. “At least butterflies rest, sometimes. These busy bees never do.”

If Théo noticed the brightness of tears in my eyes, he never spoke of it.


	7. Aldburg 4

**Aldburg 4** , by Edoraslass

 

Théodred was pleased to see that Boromir was enjoying himself. Often, such banquets could be dreary, with too many speeches and toasts to the guest of honour, but his uncle -- wisely, in Théodred’s opinion -- did not let the speech-making drag on too long. He supposed this was because Éomund and Théodwyn were not ones for elaborate ceremony; banquets at Aldburg were always refreshingly informal, unlike those at Edoras.

Boromir threw himself down on the bench next to Théodred, laughing and breathless. “You warned me of her temper,” he said, taking a gulp of ale as he leaned back against the table, “but you did not tell me that your aunt is such an enthusiastic dancer!”

“My aunt is an enthusiastic dancer,” Théodred said, grinning as Boromir gave him a mock scowl. “She will be the last one on the square, believe me.”

“I do,” Boromir nodded, loosening the neck of his shirt. “I am pleasantly surprised, Théodred. I have not enjoyed myself so much at a formal banquet since I was - oh, four years old.”

“That seems a long time,” Théodred said, waving at Raedwyn as she caught his eye. “Are you telling me that you have never enjoyed flirting with pretty nobles' daughters at such gatherings?”

Boromir gave a snort. “Enjoy myself? With the lords dogging my every step, hoping that I will drop a word in my father’s ear for them? Or pretty nobles' daughters and their mothers circling me like vultures, hoping that they would be the one to catch my eye and thus secure themselves a place in society?"

Théodred dropped his voice. “Well, what about flirting with nobles' sons?” he teased. It was not the first time that evening that Theodred had made such a remark, and on this occasion as well as the others, Boromir looked almost angry.

Théodred was puzzled, but had no time to question Boromir as two lively girls were now approaching. “My little ones!” he greeted as they climbed into his lap. “Are you having a good time?”

“Oh yes,” Fridhu bubbled, “I had strawberry fool and Papa danced with me!”

“I saw,” Théodred smiled at her, wincing as she stood on his thigh and bounced. “And I see strawberries on your nose, as well.“ He wiped the bit of juice from her nose, continuing. “And you, Blídhe?”

“It is very loud, _Fæðer_ ,” Blídhe said, catching her father’s face in her hands, “but Mama is pretty.”

“Yes, she is,” Theodred agreed, for it was the truth. Raedwyn was wearing a green gown with rust-coloured embroidery, and Theodred smiled as he realized that the girls wore dresses of the same style, only with the dominant colours reversed. “You look very well, Raedwyn.”

Raedwyn laughed, self-conscious. “Thank you,” she said, running her hand over both girls’ heads. “Though I am sure these two will always outshine me.” She turned to Théodred. “Are you able to watch them for a while? They will be no burden; soon they should tire, then they will fall right to sleep.”

Théodred grinned, not missing the expectant way that Caflic was watching them from the other side of the room. “They are never a burden,” he replied, holding Fridhu’s knees to steady her balance. “I will be glad of the time with them.”

Raedwyn looked both relieved and eager. “You girls listen to your father and Lord Boromir,” she instructed, earning herself a startled glance from both men at the inclusion of Boromir in this order. “If it grows too late before I return, Théodwyn has said she will take them for the night.”

Théodred smothered a laugh at this not-very-subtle hint that Raedwyn did not wish to be disturbed. “I understand,” he said, “of course you should have time alone with your husband.” Then he had to grin at the long-suffering way she rolled her eyes at him.

Raedwyn kissed the girls, who were unconcerned with her impending departure, made a curtsey to Boromir and Théodred, who was amused at the gesture, then hurried off to where Caflic was waiting. He slipped an arm around her waist, and they swiftly disappeared from the hall.

 

~*~

Boromir was indeed enjoying himself. The Rohirrim were a warm people, the food was unfamiliar yet flavorful, the ale superb, and the music energizing. He spent a great deal of time talking with Riders and nobles alike, slightly amazed by their open ways. In Gondor, such men were more likely to have hidden motivations, but these men were very straightfoward, seeming to conceal nothing.

He had met all of Théodred’s family, as well as Raedwyn, mother to the twins. She was a bit discomforting, for she acted as if she knew a great deal more about him than he did of her. Uneasily, he wondered how much Théodred had told her about his time in Minas Tirith. But she said nothing untoward, and had a very pleasant temperment, with a smile just like Fridhu's. He could understand how Théodred had found her appealing.

Though Boromir was a bit overwhelmed at the nonstop talk and uninhibited laughter from all sides, as the evening progressed, he found himself more relaxed than he had been in many a month. He wondered if this was simply because of the company, or because he was out from under his father’s watchful eye for the first time in his life.

However, he also found that he was uncomfortable with some of Théodred’s quiet jests. It was not that Boromir was embarrassed, exactly, by the suggestiveness of such remarks; in fact, he found many of the comments rather exciting. And that was the problem. He was unused to this type of openness, particularly considering where his preferences lay. No matter what Théodred had told him about things being “different” in Rohan, Boromir could not shake the feeling that someone would hear, and take great offense, perhaps cause a disturbance. He had avoided even the most casual contact with Théodred all evening, and he could see the confusion in Théodred’s eyes at this behaviour.

The arrival of the girls took some of the worry off Boromir’s mind. They had run back and forth across the hall all evening, from Raedwyn and Caflic to him and Théodred, but now that they had their father’s full attention, they were determined to hold it. They were so charming in their demands that Boromir was again struck with an understanding of Theodred’s pride in his young daughters.

The one he’d held earlier -- Blídhe, he thought it was -- scrambled off of Théodred’s lap and planted herself in Boromir’s as if she had every right to do so. “It is too loud for you, little bumblebee?” he asked, amused at her complete lack of self-consciousness.

“Just sometimes,” she replied, blue eyes solemn. “When they yell, it hurts my ears.”

Boromir laughed. He had been taken aback by the chorus of shouts that arose every so often during a song, at the end of a dance, or for no reason he could discern. “It is a surprise, is it not?” he agreed. She nodded, and reached curiously for his hair.

“They find it fascinating,” Théodred said, handing Fridhu the cup she was straining to reach, first sniffing at its contents. “It is not often that we see a dark head in this part of the country.” Théodred’s eyes darkened minutely, an easily-read smile curving his lips. “It is quite appealing, I must agree.”

Théodred reached as if to touch Boromir’s hair himself, but Boromir drew back, and again saw that perplexed look on Théodred’s face. Guilt stabbed at him, but he was in no position to explain his actions, not with two alert little girls listening to every word.

“So what was so interesting about this banquet when you were four?” Théodred asked, as if nothing had happened.

“Éowyn is four!” Fridhu informed them. “I am two, and Blídhe is two!”

“Two years, four months,” Blídhe corrected.

“How old is Éomer?” Théodred asked, as if it were the most interesting question in Rohan.

“Eight,” Blídhe frowned, leaning against Boromir’s chest. He held her steady with one arm, and she rested her hands on his forearm. “And he gives us orders.”

Théodred laughed. “I think that Éomer will always order you around,” he said, “but you may tell him to stop, when you are older.”

“Tell him to stop now,” Fridhu was scowling. “We don’t like it.”

“No, we don’t,” Blídhe agreed.

“I will talk to him,” Théodred promised, still grinning. “Here, little one, would you like to comb out my hair?”

Fridhu’s eyes lit up. “Oooh, yes, _Fæðer_ ,” she gasped, clapping her hands. “Mama says I pull too much. Blídhe, you help me.”

“No,” Blídhe said, setting her chin stubbornly. “Later.”

Théodred produced a comb from his tunic pocket --a comb for horses’ manes, unless Boromir missed his guess - and Fridhu happily set about her task while Blídhe was content to sit and watch from Boromir’s lap, plucking at the embroidery on his sleeve. He was bemused by Blídhe’s attitude; she seemed so quiet and shy, yet she had taken to him almost immediately. Whereas Fridhu, all chatter and restless energy, was in actuality much more bashful, and hid her face when he tried to speak with her.

“They are lovely,” Boromir told Théodred, and was rewarded with a wide smile that warmed his heart. “I have not spent much time around children since I was one myself, and I had not thought it would be so agreeable.”

Boromir could see Théodred’s pride in his daughters written on every line of his face. “I am biased, but I think them more exceptional than any children I have yet to meet -- though I will deny I said such a thing if my lady aunt ever asks.”

Boromir laughed. “I understand,” he nodded, smiling down at Blídhe as she began trying to unbuckle his bracers. “Do you need help?”

“I can do it,” Blídhe protested, and he let her be.

The four of them sat in peaceful silence for several moments, the men watching the activity of the hall, while the girls concentrated on their individual activities.

 

~*~

“My nanny slapped an impertient young noble,” Boromir said abruptly, and it took Théodred a moment to realize that this was an answer to an earlier question. “At a banquet when I was four.”

Théodred gave his friend a disbelieving look. “Surely you are joking.”

“No,” Boromir shook his head, grinning. “She was not appreciative of the fact that he tried to physically banish me to the children’s corner, so that he could spend time with her.”

“Was she dismissed?” Théodred wanted to know, then hissed involuntarily. “Gently, Fridhu.”

“I’m sorry, _Fæðer_ ,” Fridhu said, leaning over his shoulder. “But you are tangled.”

“I wonder how that happened,” Théodred replied, quirking an eyebrow at Boromir meaningfully. Again, that strange look flickered across Boromir’s face. Worry began to gnaw at the back of Théodred’s mind. What was he doing that would displease Boromir so?

“Oh no,” Boromir went on, “my parents were rather impressed that she would stand up for me.” He took a sip of his ale. “She did not leave Minas Tirith until Faramir was 12.”

“Help now, please,” Blídhe broke in. “It’s stuck.”

Boromir chuckled at her exasperation, and unbuckled the bracer for her. She gave him one of the brilliant smiles that always melted Théodred’s heart, and began examining it closely. “One, two, three, eight, one, five, seven!” she chanted, counting the stars. “Seven stars!”

“And one White Tree,” Boromir said, his smile so gentle that Théodred’s heart stopped painfully in his chest.

“She is very fond of you,” Théodred said, reaching to lay his hand on Boromir’s bared wrist.

“And I of her,” Boromir replied, moving his arm away to stroke Blídhe’s hair, as if this had been his intention all along. “Of both of them.”

Théodred’s patience, fueled by uncertainty, had reached its threshold. “Boromir, have I somehow offended you?”

Boromir appeared to be startled at the question, but the shadow in his eyes betrayed him. “What would make you think so?”

“You have been -- eluding me all evening,” Théodred answered, warning himself against sounding defensive. “What has happened?”

Now Boromir looked uneasy, and he fixed his attention on Blídhe, who was tracing the lines of the White Tree with great intensity. “I -- I do not wish to speak of it now, Théodred. Not with the little ones listening.”

Théodred went still for a moment. What could Boromir have to say that could not be said in front of the children? He took a deep breath, willing himself to calmness. “As you wish,” he said, unable to keep anxiety from his voice. “But we shall discuss this, once they are asleep?” He had meant it to be a statement.

“Yes,” Boromir gave a nervous smile that was supposed to be reassuring, but which only increased Theodred’s tension. “We shall.”


	8. Aldburg 5

**Aldburg 5** , by Edoraslass

 

The rest of the evening seemed to be very long to Boromir. Théodred was not precisely ignoring him, but there was a cool note to his voice when he did speak, unless they were discussing the children. This did nothing to ease Boromir’s nervousness, for he did not know how he was going to explain to Théodred what has been bothering him. He also had no idea how Théodred would react, and his imagination saw any number of scenarios to immediate acceptance to thinking him childish to a full-fledged row. It occurred to Boromir, as he was watching Théodwyn dancing yet again, that he did not really know much about Théodred, other than how Théodred made him feel. Yes, they agreed on issues of warfare, but men who were companions in the field were not always friends when they were at home.

By the time the girls had worn themselves out, Boromir had managed to come up with what he thought was a reasonable way to explain why he had been distant all evening. He hoped Théodred found it reasonable as well.

“How can someone so small have so much energy?” Théodred wondered as he regarded Fridhu, who was fast asleep, cradled in his arms. “I would not have predicted that they could stay awake this late.”

Boromir chuckled quietly. “Blídhe is still fighting her weariness,” he said. “I think she is afraid she will miss something important.” He glanced down at the white-blonde head on his shoulder, trying to see her face. “Are her eyes still open?”

“Only just,” Théodred replied with a fond smile. “A few moments more, and she will be asleep as well.” He looked across the room. “And there is their mother.”

Raedwyn looked distinctly mussed, and Boromir could see Théodred repressing the urge to tease her about it. “We have two tired little girls for you,” was all he said. “They should sleep well tonight.”

“They were very excited to be able to attend,” Raedwyn said, “especially since you were here, Théodred. I will hear of nothing but what they did at the banquet with _Fæðer_ for days to come.”

Théodred looked pleased at this, though Boromir suspected that Caflic would not be feel the same way. “If you will lead the way?” Boromir said, standing slowly so he would not jar Blídhe. “I am sure they will be more comfortable in their own bed.”

“And I am sure you are ready for sleep as well,” Théodred said. His voice was mild, but Boromir caught the mischievous gleam in his eye. Raedwyn did as well, from her expression, but she did not comment on it.

Raedwyn led them to a small neat cottage not far from the main hall. Caflic and two of his fellow Riders stood outside, talking, and he nodded a greeting as Boromir and Theodred carried the girls inside.

“Here,” Raedwyn said as Théodred laid Fridhu on the small bed, “you are going to want this back.” She was trying to tug Boromir’s bracer from Blídhe’s tight grip.

“It is no matter,” Boromir assured her, as he followed Théodred‘s example. “I can retrieve it in the morning - you do not want to risk waking her.”

“I had thought that we might remain in Aldburg for another day,” Théodred suggested, “for I have had too little time with my daughters recently. Father will understand if we delay on their account. If you are in no hurry, Boromir? ”

Boromir nodded. “I would like to see a bit more of the city as well,” he agreed.

Raedwyn smiled. “They will be so happy,” she said, covering them with a blanket. “They do miss you when you are gone, Théodred.”

“As I miss them,” Théodred replied, leaning down and kissing their foreheads.

“Thank you for watching them, both of you,” Raedwyn said as she walked them to the door. “I love them dearly, but sometimes I long for just a bit of quiet.”

“You do not need to thank me,” Théodred waved one hand in dismissal, “for I value every moment I have with them. And sometimes I long for a bit of childish noise.”

“They are charming,” Boromir added, “and they do you credit.”

Raedwyn laughed, clearly flustered. “I could ask for no more,” she said. “Good night, Théodred, Lord Boromir.”

Boromir and Théodred walked back toward the hall. The moon shone full and bright; music and laughter still floated on the cool night air, and Boromir wondered how long the banquet would go on.

“Until my uncle or aunt turns everyone out,” Théodred answered when Boromir asked. “They are not ones to end a revel simply because of the late hour.”

There was silence between them, and Boromir slowed his pace, hoping that Théodred would follow suit. He did so, but Boromir realized that Théodred was not going to bring up the source of tension between them, so he said, “Is there a quiet place, where we might speak unheard?”

Théodred considered a moment. “Come this way.”

He led Boromir to a small courtyard some distance from the hall, and seated himself expectantly on one of the elaborately-carved wooden benches. “Now will you tell me what is weighing so heavily on your mind?” There was an almost plaintive note to his voice. “What have I done to cause offense?”

Boromir did not sit next to Théodred, but remained standing. “I am not offended,” he hastened to assure the other man, who looked unutterably relieved. “It is simply -- “ the words he had chosen so carefully now fled. “I do not know how to put this without offending you.”

Théodred leaned back on the bench. “Just tell me, Boromir,” he said. “If we Rohirrim are anything, it is straightforward.”

Boromir gave a wry chuckle that was mostly nervousness. “That is true enough,” he said, “and it is one more thing that is hard for me to grow used to.”

Théodred’s eyes sharpened. “And what is another thing?”

“I am not --I am not used to open displays,” Boromir said, thinking even as he spoke that he sounded pompous. “It …makes me very uncomfortable when you…make bawdy jests, or try to touch me when there are others around.”

“It makes you uncomfortable?” Théodred repeated, puzzled. “But --why? There is no-one here who will think it unseemly.”

Boromir had guessed this much of Théodred’s reaction. “That may be so,” he said, “but it is not what I am used to. I am used to having to hide myself, Theodred, for fear of both my father’s anger and public shame.”

Théodred’s eyes narrowed. “You are ashamed?” His voice was dangerously even.

“No,” Boromir said firmly. “No. I am not _ashamed_ of who I am. It pains me to know that I must conceal this part of my nature from my father, and my people. It saddens me to know that once I am Steward, I will likely have to deny it entirely, or else become quite devious in where I take my pleasure. But I am not _ashamed_ of myself, Théodred.” Now he moved to sit on the bench. “I am not ashamed of how I feel toward you. It is just -- I can not show it in company. And…I wish you would not do and say such things, when there are so many who might see or hear.”

Théodred was quiet for long moments, and Boromir would have given anything to know what he was thinking.

~*~

Théodred, for his part, was taken completely off-guard. This was not what he had been expecting. He regarded Boromir, gathering his thoughts. “I understand why you would feel that way when you are in Gondor,” Théodred said at length, “but you are not in Gondor, Boromir. Does that not matter? Your father is not here, and there is no-one who would try to raise a hue and cry at seeing us together. Here, of all places, you should not be afraid to be who you are.” He wanted to be reasonable, but he was still confused, and was also doing his best to not be belligerent.

Boromir ran a hand over his face. “Théodred, after days in the field, do you find it harder to raise your guard, or to lower it?”

“To lower it,” Théodred replied immediately. “It is very diffi…” he trailed off as realization began to dawn. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Boromir said, shoulders sagging in relief. “Do you see? At home, I always have my guard raised, for fear that I will give myself away. I can not simply drop it, because I have traveled a few leagues, no matter how appealing that idea might be. Perhaps when we are older, and I have spent more time in Rohan …..” he sighed. “But do not ask this of me right now. It makes me feel exposed, as if the edge of a blade was at my throat.”

Théodred could not let one thing go by unmarked. “You did kiss me,” he pointed out,“where anyone might wander by and see.”

Boromir blushed; in the pale moonlight Théodred could see this plainly. “I did,” he admitted. “But it was a calculated risk, and an opportunity I could not turn down.”

Théodred was more flattered by this answer than he cared to admit. “When you have spent more time in Rohan?” he said, redirecting the subject in an attempt to calm the sudden heat in his blood. “You are planning on doing so?”

“I would have come before now,” Boromir said, smiling, “if I had been able. I told you once, Théodred -- it may not be often, but I will come to you, whenever I can.”

Théodred was finding it difficult to think clearly, for he recognized the invitation that was now Boromir’s eyes. Recklessly, he asked, “And what might your reaction be, if I were to take a calculated risk right now, in this secluded spot?”

“There is only one way to find out,” Boromir answered, leaning toward him.

~*~

Eager hands and mouths roamed what skin could be reached; then Boromir loosened the cord that held Theodred’s shirt closed, and ran a fingertip over the inked skin along the line Théodred’s collarbone. Théodred drew away with a smothered gasp, hands tightening briefly on Boromir’s arms.

“You are approving of this new decoration?” he asked, standing and impatiently pulling Boromir to his feet.

“I am,” Boromir said, breathless. “I have never seen one so elaborate before.” He again traced the knotwork that now adorned Théodred’s chest, fascinated by its intricacy . “And I was too distracted earlier to examine it closely.”

“You may examine it at your leisure,” Théodred assured him. “If -- will you stay with me tonight?“ Beneath his lips, Boromir could feel the vein in Théodred’s neck pounding.

“Of course I will,” Boromir replied softly, aware that in light of their conversation, Théodred was afraid that he would be refused. “I believe you, Théodred, that no one will care where I spend my night.”

“ _I_ would care, if you did not spend it with _me_ ,” Théodred informed Boromir, winding his fingers into Boromir’s hair and kissing him again.

Boromir grinned, seized with a sudden, fierce joy. “Who else would I spend it with? Caflic?”

Théodred stared at his friend for a moment, then burst into peals of laughter. “Come, then,” he bade, still laughing as they began walking toward the hall. “I wish to wake with you beside me, Boromir.”

Boromir‘s expression became distinctly wicked. “If I let you sleep at all.”


	9. Telling Tales

**Telling Tales** , by just_ann_now

 

“Tell me,” Théodred breathed into Boromir’s ear, “about the first time you tasted cock.” And then he bit down hard on Boromir’s earlobe.

Boromir felt the tingle all the way down to his toes, though he could not quite decide if it was caused by Théo’s words, or the sharp, surprising nip. It always seemed as though the moment he was in Théo’s presence, his skin became extraordinarily sensitive, so that the barest touch of fingers or lips or brush of hair became magnified a hundredfold, until he felt he would simply dissolve from the pleasure.

And Théo’s words – it had come as a bit of a shock, as well as a thrill, to discover that Théo enjoyed talk during lovemaking. Those first nights in the damp, mouldery tent, with guardsman just a few feet away; or that one glorious night on Mag’s narrow bed, were salutes to Théodred’s restraint, such as it was. And yet to Boromir they were treasured memories of the most powerful and satisfying experiences of his young life. What he had experienced before, shrouded in shame and secrecy with men, or brittle matter-of-factness with women, were as nothing compared to those few hours. He treasured those memories and relived them, insofar as was possible, over and over in the solitary comfort of his bedchamber. 

Their reunion, after four years, was a revelation to Boromir. Relaxed and comfortable in Aldburg, Théodred was able to instruct Boromir in delights the likes of which he had never imagined. Nothing in the books he had studied so assiduously in his younger days prepared him for the taste and scent and sensation he found in his lover’s arms. Nor did he expect Théo’s fierce howl of delight, followed shortly by a thump on the wall, and angry call of “Quiet, you!” from the neighboring room. Théo roared with laughter; after his initial shock, Boromir could not help but join in. 

“Your face.” Théo was still gasping for breath. “I wish you could have seen it.”

“Does that happen often?” Boromir was still stunned; such free and open acceptance of these matters and behavior was astounding to him.

“Does what? My, ah, enthusiasm, or the beating on the wall? I think he must have thrown a boot. It was probably Elfhelm, damn him.”

“Well, both, I suppose.”

“The shouting was teasing, I’m not always _quite_ that loud. But when I am with someone, what we are doing, that is one of the greatest pleasures of life, and should be celebrated as such. Do you understand? Did my cry shock you? Would you rather…”

Tenderly Boromir took his lover’s face in his hands, stroking away a damp curl. “It was a surprise, that’s all. I would not change anything about you for the world.”

So it became a game between them, to heighten the pleasure of their encounters. Théodred would tell him a bit about how he had learned a particular flourish or position; Boromir would describe things he had seen in books; or enacted at some of Minas Tirith’s more exotic establishments; or had imagined Théo doing to him during long nights on the cold ground. Always, along with the words, there would be the slide of fingertips on sweat-slicked skin, the delicious rasp of stubble or whisper of breath on tender, secret parts; and sometimes a chuckle or snort of glee as the stories unfolded. 

And Boromir learned, too, the unabashed delight of crying out in his release, whether to the infinite sky or the ancient, smoky timbers of Théodred’s chamber. Each time, an extraordinary feast for the senses, a treasure to be savored in memory throughout the long years apart.

‘Tell me,” Théodred breathed into Boromir’s ear, “about the first time you tasted cock.”

So Boromir began to tell him, in suitably vivid detail; and while he was telling him, he thought about how that first time was not nearly as delicious as the next time would be, just a few moments away, in this tousled bed.


	10. A Bedtime Story

**A Bedtime Story** , by just_ann_now

 

“Tell me,” Théodred breathed into Boromir’s ear, “about the first time you tasted cock.”

“I was sixteen, and still in my cadet training,” Boromir began. “I knew that certain things went on between some of my fellow cadets – in the bathhouse, or the far corner of the dormitory, but I had never been invited to participate. I suppose they were not sure of me, whether I would react with horror or disgust, or tell my father…”

“Those are reasonable concerns. They were my concerns, when I first met you, before…”

“Really? I didn’t know that. I wondered about you, what you would do if…well, no matter, that’s all worked out for the best, hasn’t it? As I was saying, there was no one who showed any interest in me in that way. But there were some young guardsmen I had noticed, I thought, who didn’t seem quite like the others. They were always together, and sometimes I thought I saw one slip his hand around the other’s bottom –”

“Like this?”

“Yes, ummm, exactly like that, except over their breeches, of course. I suppose I became a bit obsessed with watching them. And then one night, when I was off duty I followed them, down to a tavern on the second circle.

“I couldn’t go in right after them, of course, so I wandered around a bit, then went inside just in time to see them going upstairs. They were laughing, and holding hands; I stood frozen at the door. I don’t think I had any idea of what I was actually going to do, you know, I just wanted to see. Finally, I realized people were staring at me, so I went inside and ordered ale, taking it to a table in the corner, where I could watch without attracting too much attention to myself. Once a man came to my table with a willow basket in his hand; I had seen others tossing coins in the basket so I did, too. The man nodded and moved on.

“I had not been to many taverns, and certainly not down on the second level; but one thing I noticed quickly was that there were no women there at all; no barmaids or serving wenches or even any whores. When the kitchen door opened, and I could steal a quick glance inside, I saw that there were some inside, but they never stepped out into the tavern. Young men carried the trays of drinks around; others were together in a corner, strumming guitars and singing softly. Every now and then there were bursts of laughter. I kept my head down, nervous that they were laughing at _me_.

“After a time I realized that in the back part of the room there was a small stage, and on the stage was a bed, and on the bed, two men were rutting…”

“They were _not._ Surely, Boromir, you are joking!”

“I am not joking. They were rutting, and people were watching them, and when they were finished, people clapped, calling ‘Well done!’ The men fastened up their breeches, picked up the basket full of coin, bowed, and left together, arm in arm.”

‘It is for their poor, aged mothers,’ said a voice close to my ear. I was startled– I hadn’t realized anyone had come over to my table. ‘Or their sisters, starving with their husbands and children after their crops failed. Or perhaps it is for themselves, for there are certainly worse ways for a young man to earn his bread in this city.’

I turned to gaze at him, unsure of what he meant. Did he take me for a boy-whore? But he continued blithely, talking about the talent of the musicians, the extraordinary quality of the ale. His voice was soothing, carrying a bit of the musical lilt of the south, and he wore a single black pearl earring. After we had talked for a bit I asked if he were a seaman, and he replied that, though he for many years had served as first mate on a small trading vessel that plied the Bay of Belfalas, he was now a merchant’s factor, escorting cargos between Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth. ‘No more adventures for me, I’m afraid,’ he said, with a gleam in his eye that I found unsettling, but not unappealing. 

A group of rangers had come in, taking the table next to us, speaking in soft voices while they ate. After their meal was finished, though, they lit their pipes, and the room soon became wreathed in bluish smoke. I coughed, then cursed myself for a fool, calling attention to myself. 

‘It _is_ smoky in here. Perhaps we should go out for a breath of air?’ my companion asked courteously. I nodded, and tossing a coin to the barman, we left. My head was still a bit muzzy from the ale, but the cool air was refreshing, with just a tang of salt air from the river. I was beginning to have an idea of what was going to happen, and I felt simultaneously curious and uneasy. 

‘Here,’ he said suddenly, and pushing me against a wall, began to kiss me. He tasted of ale, and little bit of cheese and smoked fish. I did not expect his tongue, but as he began to explore my mouth, I found that I liked it very, very much…”

“You always have,” murmured Théodred. “Never have I known a man who enjoys kissing as much as you. Of your considerable skills, I would say that that is one of my particular favorites. I suppose I should thank that man, whoever he is, for being the first to recognize your natural talent in that area?”

“You should. You would have found me a clumsy, unsatisfactory partner indeed. He kissed me for a long time, rubbing himself against me, and as my body responded I found myself almost giddy with shock and delight. ‘Hsssst, that is the Steward’s son,’ I heard a passer-by murmur, but at that moment I did not care. I only wanted the kissing, and what I knew would follow. Finally he broke away, leaving me gasping; but steadied me with a gentle hand, lifting my chin to look him in the eye. ‘Will you come to my room? I will not have you unwilling.’ I nodded, my mouth dry with new-found desire, and he kissed me again, very gently. ‘Good’, he said.

“As we walked to his rooms he pointed out the stars and constellations, telling me their names in various languages; I tried not to think about my uncle doing the very same when I was just a boy. We climbed up a narrow outside staircase; he unlocked the door and held it open with a flourish, as if I were a princely guest. Yet the moment we were inside he had me up against the wall again, kissing my throat, unbuttoning my shirt, licking my nipples, my belly….”

“Certainly a man of good taste. I particularly enjoy licking your belly, as well. What about your hip bones? Did he discover this delicious spot, right here?” Théodred chuckled at Boromir's sudden, sharp gasp. 

“He did, eventually, but not at that moment. At that moment he knelt down in front of me, unfastened my breeches, and slid them down around my ankles. Then he took me in his mouth -”

“He didn’t! He took _you_ in _his_ mouth, first? What a prince among men! To take such pains with a stumbling, mewling virgin…” 

“I was not a stumbling, mewling virgin! Well, I was a virgin, where the love of men was concerned. It had never occurred to me, actually, to have a whore do that. It was always the other, which I enjoyed, but never found particularly wonderful. Do you think if I had had a whore -”

“No, I don’t. I’ve never known a man who prefers men to have his nature changed by a woman. It is the way you are born, like having dark hair or grey eyes or a birthmark shaped like a fish.”

“Well, that’s comforting to know; I’d have wasted even more money on whores than I did. So, he took me in his mouth, and it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to me in my life, besides getting a pony and a real sword. But certainly the best thing that had happened to me since I’ve been an adult. It was a good thing he had me against the wall, because my knees would have buckled and I’d have ended up on the floor.

“When I was done, and had stopped shaking, he stood up and kissed me, letting me taste myself on his tongue. I had tasted seed on my fingers before, of course, but the flavor of his mouth made it even better. ‘Now, my turn, he said, pushing me gently to my knees.

“I unfastened and loosened his breeches, and Théo, on my word of honour, it was the first man’s cock I had ever seen, close up and ready. The color, the shape, that single, gleaming drop at its tip – it was a thing of beauty.”

“More beautiful than mine?” Théodred’s voice was mournful. 

“No, certainly not more beautiful than yours; yours is a masterpiece of creation. But it was the first I had ever seen, and, therefore, unique and marvelous. Of course, after what he had just done to me, I was entirely agreeable and pliable. So it didn’t _need_ to be beautiful; I would have taken it anyway. But I’m glad that it was.

“It tasted a bit of sweat, but mostly of soap – he must have gone to the tavern straight from the public bath. His hair there was dark, with some grey streaks – I remember being surprised that hair down there would change color with age, too. I was eager to please him, remembering what he’d done for me, but I might have been a bit overeager: _Careful, watch the teeth,_ he murmured at one point, and so I learned to use my tongue in a whole new way. 

“After just a few moments, though, he surprised me by holding my head to make me stop. I looked up at him, worried that I had displeased him, but he smiled at me. _Let me show you what you want to know,_ he said, and raising me from my knees, he led me to his bed. 

“Ahhhh,” said Théodred. 

“Ahhh,” echoed Boromir. “Well, it’s good that I had seen what I had at the tavern, or I’d have had no idea. I can’t believe, now, how innocent I was; but I suppose everyone has a first time. So I quickly took off my clothes, and when I lay down, I had the sense to put my bottom in the air. He ran his fingers over my body, chest and hips and bottom, talking to me soothingly the whole time. He told me everything he was doing, with the oil and all, everything. ‘I’ll be careful, since it’s your first time. Some men like to be rough. You might find that you like it rough, yourself; but not this time.’ I could feel his oil-slicked fingers, and then he was there, entering me, and moving inside me.”

“And did you like it, that first time?” Théodred asked softly.

“I think I did, the fullness, and the friction, and every now again he brushed against a certain spot – well, there were so many new experiences that night, it’s very difficult, now to isolate them, one from the other. It felt good, it felt wonderful, but I think I sensed that it wasn’t quite as wonderful as it could be. And of course I was a bit drunk, too, which may have dulled the sensation. I just remember being glad that he was enjoying himself, and thinking that I’d want to try it some more, so that I could learn to enjoy it, too.”

“And you did.”

“Oh yes. I went back the very next day, and said, _I'm not drunk now, and I want to do it again_.” 

“Boromir?"

"Yes, Théo?" Boromir's reply was halfway between a gasp and a moan. 

"I'm very, very glad that you did."

"So am I, love."


	11. Pillow Talk

**Pillow Talk** , by just_ann_now

“I want to watch you touch yourself.”

“Are you daft?” Boromir looks up, smiling; my cock stirs, as always, at the sight.. “Why should I waste my time here with you doing something I’ll have far too much time to do by myself later?”

I pull him up close enough to flick my tongue around his earlobe, chuckling as he squirms. “I want to be able to picture you doing what _I’ll_ be doing, those long, cold nights…” 

“Ass,” he mutters agreeably. Shifting to lie flat on his back, he stretches, languorous as a cat. Then, with a lascivious smile, eyes half-closed, he begins, and I watch, feasting on the sight. Borya’s handsome face, his flickering eyelids, the vein throbbing at the side of his throat. His hands, those graceful hands that have fascinated me since the day we met, moving slowly at first, then harder pinching, tighter grasping. His breathing becomes shallow, rapid. 

I watch until I can bear it no longer. “Let me,” I whisper, sliding my tongue down that luscious curve of hip, over that sweat-slicked belly; taking him into my mouth at just the right moment, his gasps matching the rhythm of my pounding heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A birthday gift for fawsley.


	12. Listening (Aldburg 5.5)

**Listening** , by Edoraslass

 

“Boromir.”

“Hmm?”

“You are nearly crushing me.”

“Do you mind?”

A snort. “No, I suppose not…but…“ creaking of a bedframe - “...ah, there, that is better.”

Silence, then, reluctantly, “We should get up, before the rest of the hall begins to stir.”

Questioning, a hint of defiance. “You said that no-one here would care where I spent my nights.”

“And I said truly,” puzzled, “but will your men not report back to your father, if they know where you have slept?”

A smirking chuckle. “Not those two. In his wisdom, my lord father not only managed to pick the largest, most fearsome looking guards to accompany me, but also the only two who have been devoted to each other for quite some time.”

Both voices, laughing.

“In that case, we should take advantage of having a real bed.”

“I would rather --” a yelp of surprise, quickly muffled, “-- take advantage of you.”

Muted whispers, sighs, then a sharp gasp.

“I have never found tattoos appealing before, but this -- and it tastes as well as it looks.”

“Mmmm… there.”

“Here?”

“ …oh…yes.”

Murmuring, movement.

Rolling, indistinct words. A long shivering intake of breath.

“I do not speak Rohirric, Théodred.” Teasing.

“W-where did you learn that?” Unevenly.

“From one of the stodgy unimaginative folk of Gondor.” Unquestionably smug. “You did tell me to practice.”

“I am selfishly glad -- “ breathless, “that you did. Oh--” the word becomes an inarticulate sound that may or may not be a name, then turns into a deep, drawn-out moan which is caught between bliss and pain.

“Too much?” Gently.

“No,” as if spoken through clenched teeth. “No -- ah…Boromir…” barely audible.

A husky chuckle turns into a growl. “ _That_ is not fair.”

“And _that_ is?” Panting.

“I can stop --- “ slyly.

“ _No…_ ” A shaking voice. “No…please…do not stop…”

“If you can still speak, then I am not doing it properly.”

“If that is not _pro_ \---”

Whatever words may have come next are stifled, and the only thing that follows are the unmistakable sounds of pleasure.


End file.
